


Serenade

by Junisdesk



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, POV First Person, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junisdesk/pseuds/Junisdesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something wrong with Taemin. He can feel it with every fiber of his being, every moment, every day. The bad feelings cast a shadow even on the most beautiful moments. It's never been so hard for Taemin to ask for help from someone else, but maybe that someone already knows he is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> I already have this story up on the internet in my own language and I finally decided to translate it and have it posted. There will probably be around 6 chapters. Let me know what you think. Enjoy~~

  
I hate winter. I hate early mornings the most, when it is still dark and in my head only one thing is crystal clear in the process of trying to get to my senses; that how normal it would be just to be able to sleep at least until it gets bright outside.

I stare into my black and bitter morning coffee. I don’t even know when I started drinking it, I don’t even really like it. It must have happened when we started going back and forth between Korea and the rest of Asia on a weekly basis and I sometimes woke up in the morning not even knowing which country I was in at the moment, until someone turned on the radio and I realized that I only understood every tenth word, or not even. Or if I should have understood more than that, it just couldn’t go through the fogginess in my mind and reach my brain.

I asked Jinki first to give me some of his, then he made another cup for me, with a lot of milk and sugar. The taste didn’t really improve but it spared me the nausea at least. Then sugar was slowly being left out, milk as well, and then the nausea passed. Now I drink it as it was some kind of daily vitamin cocktail that is necessary for me to get through the day.

I’m alone in the kitchen, I don’t turn on the lights. It’s so early that all I want is to collapse on the kitchen table and sleep but obviously I can’t do that. In thirty minutes the van will be here for us, then rehearsal, make up, performance, interview.

I stare outside the window and let my thoughts wander aimlessly for another couple of minutes, wherever they want to. It’s been only a few hours that we came home from Tokyo, from the airport straight to the dorm, then everyone to their own bed to have at least four hours of sleep. I haven’t unpacked yet, even though I know for sure I won’t be much more eager to do it in the evening either. I don’t move, I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like going back to my room, dealing with the others, saying good morning. I wouldn’t mean it.

Of course karma is being a bitch again and the lights are turned on, the artificial rays cut through my eyelids painfully and I shield my face instinctively.

“Good morning, Taemin-ah!”

Minho’s greeting is too loud, too cheerful, too unlike what I am at the moment. I murmur something like a greeting back and I know it’s more than okay. Minho will blame it on the early hour and it will never occur to him that I don’t want him around at all.

I watch his back as he reaches for a plate in the cupboard and I envy how his muscles come to alive so easily every morning. He skipped his jogging session today because even though he loves sports the most amongst us, he is not willing to shorten his four-hour sleep with a minute either, only to run like an idiot in the freezing cold weather. He will make up for it in the evening, I’m fairly sure.

When he collapses on a chair next to me with a plate full of food, I catch his eyes and I see he’s smiling. He’s been smiling awfully a lot lately. He’s getting on my nerves.

I turn my eyes back to the dark, tasteless liquid in front of me but I don’t feel the urge anymore to take another sip. Even the smell makes me nauseous again so I push it a little bit further. I take a deep breath to get rid of the sickening feeling.

“Good morning, kids, have you slept well?” Jonghyun explodes like a bomb and invades the fridge immediately to take possesion of his favorite orange juice.

He is like this every freaking morning. He has no idea where he is until he fumbles his way from his bed to the bathroom - it’s happened more than once that he banged his head against the door frame or fell over the door step - and they say Jinki is the clumsy one -, but when he steps out, he looks like another person. Like those people who are completely transformed in a TV show; to be honest it is quite scary.

“Did you have breakfast, Taemin-ah?”

Oh yes, the always worrying hyung, the responsible band member. This is Jonghyun, every freaking morning. I swallow once to force back the aggressive response that is about to surface. Of course, I did. I want to ask him if he wants to see exactly what I had for breakfast because I can feel it crawling up in my throat, but of course that wouldn’t be too polite.

I stand up instead and I pour the remnants of my coffee in the sink before I flee. Now that Minho is in the kitchen, I will have a few minutes for myself again. I don’t bother with the bathroom; the sound of splashing water reach my ears and I know that Kibum won’t be done until another twenty minutes. Stepping in my room, I throw myself on the bed. The sight of the ceiling always makes me feel numb. It empties my head, soothes my racing thoughts.

The sickness takes over my body with full force and I’m trying to close my eyes and make it go away. Every physical symptom comes from our mind and I like to think that if I make myself believe that I’m fine then I will actually be. It works most of the times, why wouldn’t it work now, too?

Some time in the big concentration, my breathing gets even, and I realize only when the door opens, that I probably fell asleep.

I don’t have the force to raise my head so I just turn it on the side and blinking painfully, I’m trying to figure out who it is.

“Taemin-ah, we have another fifteen minutes, why don’t you go and take a shower?”

Oh God, please, no. Not Jinki.

I rub my eyes while I’m trying to convince him in a low murmur that I will actually start getting ready now. I want to wait for him to leave me alone but he doesn’t. He never does.

“Everything is okay?” he asks in a voice that makes my stomach take another spinning round, squishing my insides. I hate when he does that.

“Yeah, I just fell asleep again. I will be ready in time, hyung.”

And this, he finally understands. The silent plead for him to just get to the other side of the door and it would be fantastic if he could give me another minute to be alone.

The door closes without a sound and for several seconds I feel like I’m unable to move my limbs. In the end, with much difficulty, I get up and surprisingly even to myself, I start walking towards the bathroom with some new found energy while trying to pick up everything I will need.

The nausea is still there but it only makes its presence known as a dull pain pulsating in the back of my throat. Everything else goes on autopilot. Take a shower, brush teeth, get dressed up, avoid the mirror. It doesn’t even take ten minutes and I find myself outside, ready to face today’s battle.

Kibum pushes my phone into my hands without a word; he knows I would forget. I slip it into my pocket. I want to say thank you to him but I can’t even force myself to look into his eyes.

By the time we leave, there is a massive buzz in my head, as if we were already at rehearsal and I could hear the ear-deafening music blasting out of the loudspeakers. As we finally find our seats in the van, I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. I pretend to be asleep and I don’t care if the others believe it or not.

Every morning is exactly the same.

——

The host is a gigantic asshole. I don’t really feel like even opening my mouth, but fortunately the script only expects me to smile and nod my head in agreement for the most part, not that it’s anything new. Out of reflex, my lips curve into a somewhat confused smile the moment the cameras start to roll. Thank God, Jinki and Jonghyun are in control over the situation.

Not so long ago, I read on an online forum that poor Jonghyun-oppa always gives a rather embarrassing performance on talk shows and he doesn’t do really well at interviews either. Honestly, I could never get it. Jonghyun can talk without a break and even though his choice of words may not be as refined as Jinki’s, I feel nothing but envy when words just pour out of him with no end, making the audience laugh all the time. And when Kibum joins him, even I can’t force back my laughter at listening to all the foolishness they can combine together.

But now, now they don’t really get the chance to even crack a joke as the host’s offensive and embarrassing questions prove to be too much for all of us. My smile stays on my face though, even when the dumbass starts mocking my red hair and deems my lenses scary. I overreact a little bit of course, which allows me to do what I want and what I’m supposed to do. The audience stirs up in laughter, and the host doesn’t find the right words to get back on me when I briefly explain the concept of our comeback.

The interview finally ends after two long hours and I run backstage as fast as I can. As I enter the dressing room, the harsh smell of all kinds of beauty products hit me and I realize just now that I also emit the dinstictive odour of hair spray as if a whole tube had landed on my head. I can feel nausea overcome my senses again and I just turn back to the door silently to step out and breathe some fresh air.

The others stroll in slowly and start to change immediately when Gyeongshik-hyung grabs my arm, even though I didn’t even see where he appeared from.

“Where are you going? You need to change, we are in a hurry,” he says in a voice that leaves no room for disagreement. But now I choose to rebel instead of obeying like I always do. He needs to understand that it wouldn’t be nice to throw up my morning coffee right in the middle of the locker room for everyone else to see.

“I’ll just step out to the bathroom, I’m not feeling well.”

“I’ll go get some water for you. Stay and change your clothes,” he shakes his head in irritation and stirs me back, cutting off my way of escape.

Bastard.

I sway a little bit as I reach my table and start peeling off my clothes automatically while I throw hundreds of curses on our manager in my head. This is all the time I’m willing to devote to my anger because I know he cannot do anything either. His job is to make us go wherever we should, be there on time, do what we should do.

By the time I get ready, I feel completely calm. I know I can go through this day.

Jonghyun is quietly humming on my right side in he van, Jinki joins him after a while and my breathing gets calmer as I listen to them.

——

That night it’s just the four of us returning to the dorm; Gyeongshik-hyung took our leader to a meeting, the apartment is just as chaotic as it always is. Minho changes into his jogging clothes so fast that I don’t even have time to blink and he is already fumbling with his shoes, the door falling shut after him quietly.

Kibum and Jonghyun take possession of their room and I can already hear the twanging of the guitar. Jonghyun is at it again but fortunately he had found a perfect victim in Kibum, who enjoys being in the role of a critic. I always adored the way they can cooperate so well.

I sit at the table in the company of a glass of water while I try to stretch my body a bit. My back hurts as if it’s been struck by an axe but I know the feeling already. I’ve grown a lot lately and sometimes all the bones in my body feel like they are on fire, especially in the evening.

There is a neat lump of fan letters on the table that usually the manager brings to the dorm from time to time. Now it looks like they didn’t bother with other gifts, there are only colorful envelopes piling up in a strict order in front of me. Some of them are untouched and I want to laugh again at the thought there are actually people hired for sorting out the letters and gifts fan are sending us. Precaution is important, of course. None of us wants to experience what Yunho-hyung had to go through back then.

I cannot say we read all of the letters when we don’t even have the time to send an e-mail to our family members, but on those rare occasions when we have a little bit of free time - but not enough worth spending it outside the dorm -, we settle down and read a couple of them. Not so long ago we used to make a habit of reading them out loud to each other. Kibum is especially good at imitating the obsessed, loving fangirl.

I remember us doubling over in hysterical laughter while reading one of the letters that gave a detailed explanation of two whole pages of the reason why Jonghyun is the object of desire of thousands of women and why he shouldn’t feel sad about his height, since the writer of the letter herself is only 146 centimeters tall. As it was expected, Jonghyun tried to be all cool about it and said in an overly proud voice: “you see? Height is not everything. Even like this there is a bunch of women I perfectly fit.” At the end of the letter it turned out that the fan was only eleven years old which immediately swiped the grin off Jonghyun’s face and we kept slapping the floor and couldn’t even breathe because we laughed so hard. It took two days for Jonghyun to stop sulking, but even now he gets offended when we mention the incident.

Smiling in nostalgia, I pull the envelopes that spell my name closer. The first one is untouched and I’m not suprised. It’s realtively flat so probably it wasn’t considered dangerous enough to be opened on spot. On the first page I find a colorful, detailed, beautifully drawn manga character smiling at me and I immediately recognize myself by the curly, red hair and the huge, blue eyes. The clothes are exactly the same as the real ones, too.

I stare at the picture in awe for a couple of minutes, my eyes run back and forth, trying to memorize every single detail. I ask myself if this really is the way people see me. Obviously, a manga character is always like a caricature, exeggarated to the extreme but this is exactly what tells the impression people have about us and the role they identify us with.

On the other page, there is a short message in neat, girlish handwriting.

_”Taemin-oppa, the comeback was awesome!! Oppa is my real idol, I even take dancing classes. I hope you like the drawing, I’ve worked on it a lot. Taemin-oppa has to work hard in the future, too!_

_Taemin-oppa fighting! SHINee fighting!!!!!”_

An easy smile stretches across my face, even though I hear hundreds of messages of the kind every day. When they don’t push it forcefully into my face and wait for the obligatory positive reaction, it always reaches my heart easier.

I put the letter aside and reach for the next envelope. When I open the folded sheet and read the first words, the smile freezes on my face.

_"Lee Taemin, it’s time for you to realize that you are just a bother to the others. You think you can dance but the truth is that you are just as untalented as you are at everything else. You are nothing but a set back for the group, you are the weakest. I pray everyday for something bad to happen to you, it would be the best if…”_

I stop reading. We have all encountered something similar so far, it’s nothing new. Not everyone can like us, obviously. I just wish I could knew why they even bother to rub it in our faces. No one is obliged to sit and listen to us or watch our performances, and I could never get those people who waste energy and time on someone they don’t like. It would be so much easier to deal with things we like.

I wouldn’t say the letter bothers me too much, though my mood is back to worse as it was whole day. I don’t feel like reading anymore, I decide on a hot shower instead.

I stand under the scalding water for almost thirty minutes, and when I step out, I find myself facing with Kibum’s eyes throwing draggers at me.

“What took you so long?” he snaps and I, instead of my usual grin or indifferent shrug, get stubborn and stay quiet.

Kibum is not used to silent treatments though and I don’t even take two steps when he shouts after me.

“Hey, I asked you something.”

I don’t even have time to realize what’s happening before my anger flares up in a very fast and intensive manner. “You could have gone and take a shower before me, we got back more than an hour ago,” I raise my voice and I can see he is taken aback by my tone of voice.

I don’t wait for his reaction, just step in my room and close the door behind me. I slip in my bed quickly and pull the covers on me with a single movement. I just want sleep to come to me as fast as possible.

—————

I wake up in the middle of the night, at exactly 1.28 am, according to my clock. After blinking sleepily at the digits for a while, I let the clock slip between my fingers and it lands on my nightstand with more noise than it should, but it doesn’t wake Minho up. Thank God, he always sleeps like this, not even a bomb could drag him out of Dreamland. I envy him for it.

My throat feels dry so I walk slowly towards the kitchen, while trying to figure out what woke me up. I’m not that thirsty and I didn’t feel as cold as I do now that my feet touch the ice cold kitchen tiles.

I shiver involuntarily and that’s when I realize that my skin is damp and sweaty bangs stick to the back of my neck. I may have been dreaming about something again, but as I try to search my memory, I reach dead-end. I don’t remember.

While I start pacing with a glass of cold water in hand, my eyes automatically shift to the shoes queuing near the front door. Jinki is not home yet. Even though it’s not the first time either, I can’t possibly imagine what kind of meeting can last until this late, I have no doubts that it doesn’t even occur to those idiots how tired the leader could be after today. It’s more than certain that they are still bullshitting about something in one of those heated rooms with cloudy wallpaper without an ounce of sympathy until they see that Jinki is unable to stay awake anymore.

I adore his willpower, I always have. Back then, he didn’t trust himself enough to know whether he would be a good leader of our group or not, but got better at it with time, and we realized why he was chosen for this role.

The revelation came to me when he stood in front of me only two months before our debut stage and told me he was not doing well with the coreography. I didn’t see anything wrong with it, he was not outstandingly good, but he was not that bad either. He could memorize it and didn’t make many mistakes. Then we stayed behind and I was desperately trying to do everything to make him feel satisfied, and that was when I realized. He wanted to be the best, even if it didn’t make sense. He knew he would never be able to dance like Kibum or I did, but he wanted to be better than everyone else or even himself expected him to be. With that, he wanted earn our trust and be a solid ground for the group.

And he did because he wanted to. That was all it took, and when he enveloped me in an awkward hug, laughing in exhaustion and happiness, I felt so proud to be able help him that I have never before. Or after, for that matter.

I catch myself to have let my thoughts wander far again. I know I should grab the rare chance and sleep, but I don’t feel sleepy anymore.

The door opens so quietly that I notice the tiredly stumbling Jinki when he toes off his shoes in the hallway.

He steps in the kitchen with a grim face and questioning eyes and I greet him with a silent wave in reply.

“Taemin-ah, what are you doing here this late?” he whispers, and I can see the warmth radiating even from his sleep-deprived eyes.

“I woke up, I was thirsty,” I lie without batting an eyelash. How can I tell him that I probably had another nightmare? Jinki’s had his share of them back then, too.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks in a whisper and his eyes are already scanning the dark living room in search for the blanket we always leave on the sofa.

He turns to look for it but I stop him. “Leave it, hyung, I’m not cold. I’m sleepy, going back.”

It’s amazing how I manage to lie so easily three times in a matter of seconds.

“Okay, sleep tight!” Jinki says, but I don’t turn back.

“Good night, hyung,” I whisper back and I can almost feel his intense gaze bore into my sore muscles of my back.

I quickly slip back into my bed and try to shut out the careful but still audible sound of fumbling coming from outside.

——

Kibum doesn’t greet me in the morning and is being much more rigid with me than usual. The little, evil monster in my head makes a victory dance because I feel like he deserved what he got, since he was wrong yesterday.

The others are so busy with themselves that they don’t even notice the change and Kibum is not complaining about it. I thank him in my mind, because he spares me an unpleasant and unnecessary lesson for not being respectful enough towards my hyungs.

I give up on my breakfast halfway. Not only I feel just as bored and moody as I always am lately, but there is also something wriggling its way into my thoughts, almost in an unnoticable, but very much unsettling way. It’s like when you know something bad is going to happen, which obviously determinate your fate and something do happen in the end.

I try to wave the sinister feeling away and all of a sudden I feel exceptionally good at forcing myself not to bite off the head of anyone who talks to me.

Instead of having his breakfast, Kibum is looking for his favorite green scarf and I, knowing where he had left it, I push it into his hands helpfully just like he always does with my phone. I feel proud that for a change, I do remember something he doesn’t, and seeing his smile, I choose to be satisfied with my decision to be in a good mood today, despite all the bad signs. That is all it takes to make peace with Kibum after I was so rude yesterday and as he ruffles my hair as if I am still twelve, I know that in a few minutes, he is going to forget it even happened.

I flash him a more or less honest grin but when I turn back, I catch Jinki-hyung’s eyes and what I see on his face makes all the good feelings I possessed evaporate into thin air in a moment. He is eyeing me as if he wants to look through me, while there is something completely different and eerily weird on his face that I don’t know how to read.

I know only one thing for sure; that it makes me feel really self-conscious and the bad feelings return to torture me again with full force.

The rest of the day crawls forward with the same feelings, until just right before the performance at Music Bank as I step out of the locker room, Jinki starts shouting my name on the corridor.

Surprised, I turn back because I have absolutely no idea why he is screaming after me and to tell the truth, his sight sends another wave of unsettling feelings through my body. When he reaches me, he laughes nervously and even the blind can see how bad his whole acting is.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom, hyung,” I answer carefully. I’m still waiting for him to answer to the question that I left unspoken, but when it becomes clear that he won’t, I lose my patience. “What is it, hyung? Why did you shout after me?”

“Because I was going there, too and I thought you could wait for me,” he shrugs as he grabs my elbow and pulls me in the direction of the bathroom.

“But you only asked me now where I’m going. And why do I have to wait for you? We’re going to the toilet together now like teenage girls?”

I know he can feel the anger in my voice, but seriously, why the hell is he doing this?

After the little break, we go straight to the stage and the presence of the others feels so suffocating as if we had not five but at least fifty members.

Our performance is short and doesn’t leave me time to think when I feel Jinki’s hot palm smoothly slip between my shoulder blades as he carefully but firmly guides me backstage. When I turn to walk to the bathroom again, he changes his way, too and comes after me. I don’t know what the hell is going on but it just makes me even more frustrated, and I grunt in annoyance as I quicken my steps.

Just before I reach the door, I turn back and sigh relief as I see that Jinki got stuck in a little circle of girls backstage. I smile as Luna, probably without meaning anything bad, keeps pulling on Jinki’s bright brown locks and gives me a chance to disappear behind the door.

As I look into the mirror, I feel satisfied. The make-up artists made an excellent job today. I haven’t been well-rested lately and sometimes the circles under my eyes are so dark that it’s visible even through several layers of foundation that they usually apply on my face.

I lean down to pour some water on my face when suddenly, my stomach makes a somersault and I don’t know what makes me look up but I do, turning around in confusion. I’m fairly sure I didn’t hear anyone coming in, but I feel like I’m not alone.

Taking a quick look at the cubicles, I find all of them open and unoccupied. I don’t know if this should calm my nerves or it scares me even more, because I can still feel another presence besides my own.

Stepping out on the corridor, I feel somewhat better, even the loud screaming of the others doesn’t bother me that much. I greet some people on my way, and I can already see from a certain distance how Jinki’s eyes are following me again. Maybe I was feeling weird moments ago, because nowadays it’s like he is observing me all the time.

He seems to heave a sigh when I’m already inside the dressing room, but I don’t have time to ponder on what it can mean because Jonghyun jumps on me and followed by a breathless laughter uses me as a shield against Minho who approaches us with fire in his eyes.

“I know you took it, hyung.”

“I d.. I didn’t,” Jonghyun pants into my neck, and I free myself with a roll of my eyes. God, they can be so childish.

I hear from a safe distance as Kibum joins the playful battle and calls my name, but I don’t feel like joining them now.

I start peeling my heavy bracelets off my wrist, when I reach for my phone and randomly punch a button to check if I had any calls. When the screen flashes, I freeze and thanks to my unfinished move, my bracelets noisily fall onto the floor. I don’t reach for them, I take my phone in my hands instead and scroll down on the screen in disbelief. In the past forty-five minutes I had seventeen missed calls, all of them from an unknown number.

I stare at the tiny, repetative characters as if they could help me to solve the mystery. In a couple of second, my phone lands on the table again, and I start the same never-ending fight with my very bad, but already familiar feelings that are about to surface.

Something is not right, I just have know idea yet what it is.

 

 

 

 


End file.
